Something flashes across his expression that looks a lot like annoyance, but he just nods and pats Bullet on the head. Honestly, he looks completely fucking exhausted, but as much as I want to ask him how the hell he got out of the lake…
I keep the question to myself.
So, I put the SUV in reverse and head down the washed-out driveway, my stomach knotting up at the thought of running into the same officer I did on the way down to the lake.
But as I navigate and turn onto the gravel road, there’s no one in sight.
They really do think he’s dead.I glance back at Noah, and my throat catches. He looks so…bad.His skin is pale, his lips not quite their normal color, and he’s still soaked to the bone.
“There’s a blanket and towel under that seat,” I tell him, my voice breaking the silence as I make my way toward the highway. “My mom got rid of all my dad’s clothes, so there’s nothing I could’ve grabbed for you from there.”
Noah gives some sort of incoherent response, but does grab for the stuff I have tucked away. I breathe a sigh of relief as I risk another glance, seeing that he’s now covered with the blanket.
He’s going to get blood on it. But it’s fine.
“We should take you to a hospital,” I say, as the thought resonates. “Maybe further out of town. I do have a first aid kit somewhere in here, I think…”
“No,” he answers, his voice in more of a groan. “Just take a right at the intersection when you get there.”
“That’s a weird route…”
“Drive,Rue,” Noah barks.
I shake my head, realizing we’re just sitting at the intersection of the lake turn-off and the highway. “Sorry,” I mumble.
I hesitate, but follow his instructions, my heart rate kicking up a notch in my chest as I pull out. I keep my eyes peeled onthe dark stretch of road, the windshield wipers fighting a losing battle in the downpour.
We just have to get out of town, and we’ll be good… right?
I count the seconds between the wiper blades. Every other beat, the blade judders and leaves a nasty streak, and the world beyond the glass doubles, then blurs, then snaps back into focus as the next swipe clears it.
It’s like my brain is locked in the same rhythm offorget, remember, forget, remember.
The SUV’s heater blasts full, but it does nothing for my hands, which have welded themselves to the wheel. My fingers are white, knuckles straining, palms raw and sticky. I take each curve ten miles under the speed limit, as if that’ll make us invisible.
We’re maybe fifteen minutes out, on the way to somewhere and nowhere, before Noah finally speaks.
“Pull over at the turn off on the right in a quarter mile.”
My heart jumps in my throat as I recognizeexactlywhat he’s referencing. “Not happening. We arenotgoing to your old clubhouse.”Matthew’s old clubhouse, too.
His voice is weaker than before, but the anger in it is the same as ever. “Isaidpull over, Rue.”
“Unless you’re going to puke or bleed out on my upholstery, we’re not stopping.” I glance in the rearview and catch his stare—flat, cold, andpissed.
He holds my eyes in the mirror, then looks away. “Just do it,” he mutters. “Please.”
I swallow the word‘please’like a fucking splinter. And then swing onto the side road.
The pavement goes from passable to crumbling in two seconds flat, and the drop from the shoulder makes the whole car shudder. Noah grits his teeth and curls up on himself, and I almost apologize, but the words die on my lips.
The path is a mess, deep mud swallowing the wheels, but I push on. Branches whip against the side mirrors, and the dashboard traction control lights flicker as we hit a puddle the size of a bathtub.
If I get stuck, this is going to be a disaster.
I drive panicked and blind for a hundred feet, then the trees open up, and there it is—a blocky concrete building behind a curtain of chain-link, ringed with rusted cars and motorcycles. The whole thing is lit by floodlights, but they’re pointed out, not in.
I hate this place.
